Ghost of Grey
by luigi-dude
Summary: Johnathon Halsey was bred for Naval service, but in this new age of ship girls and abyssals what support can one man possibly provide to his fleet? A chance encounter with the USS Enterprise sets him on a new path, but will he find the answers he's looking for?
1. Prologue: Halsey

"One of the very first lies we are told as children is that we can be whatever we choose as long as we have the drive. Whole generations of children grow up thinking they can be the next big entrepreneur, Hollywood star or astronaut, blissfully unaware that from the start our destinies are written in stone. Even one's name has a profound effect on where they will go and what path will be laid bare for them to walk…"

My name is Johnathon Halsey, and for as long as I can remember... Greatness was expected of me.

In this age of war we live in, in this age of unknown waters and eldritch creatures that beggar belief I am privileged to serve with unbelievable warriors. Or rather, perhaps it is destiny that has brought me here today? My ship girls each have two stories to tell, but for humans like us, one is all we will ever get.

My story begins even before my birth; it begins with the man who came before, Admiral Halsey.

Being the Great Great Grandson of a Naval Legend brings with it high expectations, and it doesn't help matters that all the first born sons in my family for the past Six generations have all gone on to serve in the United States Navy. They might as well have painted me Blue and Gold the day I was born.

Reviewing the Navy Ethos and reading the latest Blue Jacket's Manual was an almost daily occurrence, and old sea stories from my father might as well have been my lullabies. Dad was the first in our family to go Enlisted and not Officer, something that I actually respected him for but that seemed to distance him from the rest of the family. Something seemed inherently wrong to me about the whole Officer side of the spectrum, I could understand well enough the necessity for a clear chain of command, but one man getting so many extra perks on account of having different collar devices never sat right with me. Especially considering how hard Enlisted men and women would work for substantially less pay.

My father was medically discharged from the Navy before I was born, and was never able to reach his goal of making Chief Petty Officer. Scoliosis he said it was, some kind of spinal deformity that worsened due to his heavy lifting as an ordinance mate. Something that didn't look outwardly crippling but the large volume of medications I would see in his medicine cabinet gave me a silent tip as to his inner struggles with pain.

When I was sixteen my parents sent me to live with my grandfather hoping that proper tutelage from a former Naval Officer would better prepare me for the inevitable next chapter of my life. Adapting to an even more "blue" lifestyle was difficult, but I managed to stay the course for two whole years.

Grandfather was a prior O-7 also known as the lower half of a Rear Admiral, and it showed in not only his intelligence but also in his rigorous physical training regiment. Even for an old man, he could still easily keep up with me during runs or hiking in the woods. He was strict no doubt about that, especially when it came to curfews. 2200 on the dot for taps, no exceptions… but after a few months I became something of an expert in "breakouts" when friends were looking to go have some fun on the weekends.

Getting out and seeing a movie or playing games always helped to clear my mind when stress threatened to bring in clouds. It was in my time away with friends or at school that I could truly see the world on the outside. Things weren't perfect, but everyone seemed to be doing something completely different, and most importantly, it was a welcome break from the monotonous life I had grown accustomed to.

Nearing the end of my stay with Grandfather, it was all I could do not to scream every day for the chance to finally spread my wings. I needed a change of scenery, and was growing increasingly stir crazy at my chance to finally enlist.

On my 18th birthday, a sum total of two days following my completion of high school, I signed my name on a dotted line at the local armed forces center, swiftly signing my life away to the Department of the Navy. At that point I had never felt so alive and energetic; it was as if my entire life was just validated in one swift motion of my hands. The family tradition was being carried on, and my training was finally given purpose… unfortunately I had to make this trip alone.

The evening prior was my last night with grandfather, and we ended up talking into the evening about my options for the future. Grandfather was beaming about potential schools which would lead into OCS, outlining plans for five to even fifteen years in the future and where I could expect to be…

At that point however, I thought it best to express my desire to forego secondary schooling and seek enlistment as soon as possible. This was something I had on my mind for months, I was simply too sick of waiting.

I didn't care about my future potential, or what I was "bred" to be, all I could say for sure is that I wanted to join, I was through waiting. I wanted to join as fast as I could, to get out and see the world. I wanted to help others more than anything and not lead from the rear; I wanted to follow in my father's footsteps.

Grandfather did not take this new development well, and stormed away yelling things about "wasted potential" and my "broken" father… this made my decision all the more concrete.

I ended up leaving for boot camp the following week, not an ounce of regret to be found in my being.

The next chapter of my life was about to start and it looked as though destiny had changed its course, for the moment…

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** It begins again...


	2. Great Lakes

Recruit Training Command: Great Lakes, Illinois. A location likely chosen for it's seasonal extremes of weather Great Lakes could be a chilly fog in the morning, a blistering muggy day, and a rainy evening with a chance of twisters all in one. I suppose I had the good fortune of arriving there in mid-July.

Boot camp was an absolute whirlwind. No time to think, just actions day in and day out. It seemed like we were on the move at every moment of the day excluding the ten minutes we were allotted to eat and four hours to sleep. Fortunately for us, continuous movement was a great distraction from pain AND sleep deprivation.

Each division is given a number and a corresponding barracks or "ship" which they use as a hub for training, eating and sleeping. Our division was awarded the number 317 and we were assigned to the USS Arleigh Burke at the very end of the Recruit Training compound. This meant we had to march a good two miles to get to our new home from our initial staging barracks. Of course we couldn't forget to bring our eighty-pound sea bags with us, packed to the brim with brand new uniforms and gear that we were fitted for the day before. And of course, one always has to be prepared for inclement weather… even on an eighty-four degree clear summer day. So our divisional commander took the liberty of ordering us into full battle-dress, and for good measure against any possible rain showers we donned our raincoats as well.

Our RDC was a real piece of work, one of those closet-lunatics who somehow managed to avoid a prison sentence in their lives, choosing the military route instead. Five feet tall and bearing a strong "little-man" complex, our commander was nothing but muscle and a pencil-thin black moustache. Obviously born in either India or the Philippines, his accent alone made him an unforgettable character, one whom I both despised and respected greatly.

Over the course of training I relished greatly in the ignorance of my fellow recruits in regards to my name. I garnered no special treatment from anyone, and only received a brief pause of acknowledgement from our commander during role call on day one. It felt good to simply be ordinary for a time, and not be connected or judged by a legacy far beyond your control.

Prior to joining I decided to try and strike for an Intel rate. Seeing as how that option would likely mean the greatest amount officer interactions, which I hoped would appease Grandfather in some fashion. It was in week three of training that I was dismissed from P.T. and escorted to an auxiliary room inside our barracks. Inside was a man dressed in a sharp jet-blue suit, with two badges on his pocket and a look of obvious authority in his eyes. Given no prior information as to the circumstances of this meeting I initially assumed that I was in trouble for some unnamed crime. Thankfully my fears were eased when the dour-looking man in the suit explained that I was here for a security interview.

Apparently, all individuals gunning for some manner of contracting work or military occupation in the Intelligence spectrum were required to have SSBI's. These investigations consisted of deep dives into every aspect of one's life, going as far back as childhood to search for hidden traumas or emotional deficiencies. Investigators interviewed individuals from your past for character testimonies. Everyone from teachers to friends, family and employers were visited by men in black. All travel in and out of CONUS were logged for your entire life, and your innermost demons and closet skeletons were asked to be laid bare.

It was brought to my attention by my handler that even if I lied, they would still find out, eventually.

After two hours of questioning my interview was concluded, and all questions asked of me would soon be cross-referenced with gathered data. It was simply a waiting game at this point. With a nod and a firm handshake I was dismissed by the man in the sharp jet-blue suit, and returned to my division.

The rest of my boot camp experience managed to fly by without incident. I had learned from numerous conversations with Grandfather that the quickest way to succeed in training was to simply keep your head down and your mouth shut when necessary. During P.T. or cadence however there was much benefit to be found in screaming at the top of your lungs, the RDC's called it motivation whereas every other sane human being would refer to it as annoying.

A mere two months after the journey began, I was staring the light at the end of the tunnel right in the face. Graduation day came, but my mind was firmly focused on the next step of my journey, and still more than a little concerned about the results of my security interview. However, Dad always used to say that in the Navy, "No news is good news." so perhaps my fears might have been unfounded…

Which brings me to today.

Following a seventy-two hour liberty call, we were secured in our barracks. One by one my shipmates were released to respective muster locations where they would be bused to Chicago's International Airport and shipped out to new commands. Eighty men slowly turned into fifty-six, and then into twenty-one as the sky turned black outside. It wasn't until 0200 that the final group, my group, was called to a muster point. Gathering up my sea bag and boots I took one last look around a near empty compartment, and drink in our sixty-day shelter.

Too many memories to count and too much pain to have me stay, I leave without looking back.

Going outside this night and breathing fresh air is plenty enough reward for a guy like me. Directly to my front is our designated bus, the gateway to my next adventure in a sense… I enjoy one last breath of warm summer air, and step up into the next chapter of my life.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** RDC based on a real life dude, EM1 Chaudrey. If he wasn't such a dick and we all weren't terrified of him, he would probably be one of the funniest individuals I've ever met in my life. The verbal abuse he would give us was poetry, and he tried choking me with my dog tags once which was cool... afterwards.


End file.
